


all i need is a taste (can you make me feel human?)

by winchesters



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, college au (kind of), tw: blood and gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesters/pseuds/winchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann Gottlieb, a broke teaching assistant, moves in with Newton Geiszler, a brilliant but unorthodox graduate student. Both of them harbor dark secrets, secrets that could doom themselves-and the sleepy college town of Oak Hills-to a horrific end. Can two 'freaks' ever find love in a world like this one? And what exactly makes us human? </p>
<p>If you've ever watched Being Human (UK or US version), then you've got a good idea of what I'm talking about here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> please comment/like/whatever if you feel inclined to do so
> 
> also enjoy!

The first thing he notices about the house is how messy it is: the front lawn is yellowed, weeds have overtaken the flowerbed by the porch, and ragged plaid curtains shield the windows from the outside world. Still, Hermann knows that he won’t be able to afford anything more on the pittance he makes as a TA at the local college, so he gathers his courage and knocks on the front door. A few seconds pass, Hermann wonders if he’s got the wrong house. More like _hopes_ it’s the tidy adobe place next door. But then the front door swings open, and a young man-too young to be a college student, surly-appears from the gloom within. Clad in a fraying ‘Hudson University’ t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants, he looks more like a high-school stoner than a Comparative Biology student at the local university.

“Hey! You must be Hermann,” the kid says, pulling the door open wider to admit him into the cave-like interior. “Newton Geiszler, but you can call me Newt.”

“Doctor Gottlieb,” Hermann says, holding out his hand. Newt stares at it for a moment, then shakes. His palm is hot to the touch, and he seems to register that Hermann’s is cold and dry. He pulls back almost at once, and Hermann discreetly swipes his hand on his trousers.

“So, this is the old homestead,” Newt says, gesturing to a cluttered living room populated by mismatched arm chairs and an ancient television set up on a stack of milk crates. Newt casually kicks an empty beer can under the ratty sofa. “I lease it from some old dude who lives in Bayside Assisted Care, and the rent’s pretty cheap but I’m a few months behind so…”

Hermann nods, takes in the tiny kitchen-also quite messy, he notes-and ignores the distinct odor of burnt ramen noodles and coffee.

“You said in your advert that you are a graduate student?” He asks and Newt nods.

“Yeah. Comparative Bio at Hudson U. I’m doing clinical research at the hospital under Professor Bernstein and Doctor Watanabe and-“

“You seem a bit young to be a graduate student,” Hermann interrupts, looking Newt up and down. The kid stops mid-sentence and meets Hermann’s eyes, then looks quickly away.

“Oh,” he says, and his voice is quiet and sort of broken. “Yeah, I guess so, haha.”

Hermann knows instinctively that his extremely young age and what must be a very high IQ are things that Newt has probably struggled with his entire life, and he begins to feel guilty for broaching the subject.

“Mind if I see the room I’ll be occupying?”

“Sure,” Newt says, obviously glad for the distraction. He leads Hermann to the back of the house, past a door marked ‘The Lab’-there’s a sign hanging crookedly on it that warns ‘danger, mad scientist at work’, into a tiny room that looks better suited to a closet than a living space.

“Sorry, it’s kind of small,” Newt apologizes, shoving aside a few cardboard boxes. “And it has some of my old lab equipment in it, but I’ll move all this crap if you decide you want it.”

Hermann has his concerns about sharing such close quarters with someone like Newton Geiszler, but he’s just about broke and this is the cheapest place in town that’s not a one-room apartment overlooking Oak Hill’s garbage dump.

“I’ll take it,” he hears himself say, and suddenly he can hear the blood pumping the sound of scarlet through Newt’s veins.

“Wow!” Newt exclaims, like he’s surprised. “Cool, man. So, when do you want to move all your stuff in?”

Hermann raises his ratty leather travel case.

“I’m afraid this is it,” he says with a wan smile. “As you can imagine, I’m a bit short on funds right now.”

Newt nods several times, babbling,

“Yeah, man, yeah I totally get it, for sure.” He pauses, then, “Uh, you’re going to be able to pay your share of the rent though, right?”

Hermann chuckles and sets his case down on the ancient futon.

“Of course. I can assure you that I’m a very reliable housemate.”

Newt lets out a relieved laugh that’s a little too loud in the tiny room. He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other, hands behind his back, while Hermann slowly moves the boxes around to create a pathway to the futon. When he notices Hermann’s limp-made slight by pain medication (and other things)-he leaps into action, piling the boxes into a corner with the promise ‘I’ll move it all tomorrow, I swear’ falling from his lips, and then he gives a sort of awkward half-bow and skirts out of the room whistling the Doctor Who theme song under his breath.

When he’s gone, Hermann slumps onto the futon and kicks the door closed with his good leg. It seems impossible that this morning he was on a train from New Jersey, spending the last of his cash on a bottle of shitty booze. He’d just wanted to forget it all then, but now everything is flooding back, unbidden, and he’s awash in pain and memories just like always, and his head begins to swim and there’s a very familiar ache in his canines. He rubs his gum slowly, feeling the tender flesh throb beneath the pad of his finger.

_Not now_ , he tells himself, willing his body to obey. _Later, I promise. I’ll figure something out_.

Outside, the sun breaks through a bank of storm clouds, flooding the pastoral neighborhood with late-afternoon sunlight. Hermann rises, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots through his leg, and closes the curtains. 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt is uneasy about something. Hermann meets a beautiful physics student who is interested in the Fibonacci sequence and paranormal phenomena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friendos! AND HAPPY OCTOBER! I mean, this whole month is really just a month-long Halloween, right? Please comment/kudos to your heart's desire!

Monday morning, just after five a.m. Hermann blows on his too-hot coffee, which he wrangled from the ancient Mr. Coffee half an hour ago. He doesn’t have to be at work until seven, but he likes getting up early. It gives the impression that he actually _sleeps,_ when in fact he spends most nights puzzling over mathematical theorems or reading Kleist or Schlegel. He rarely sees Newt before eight, so he’s surprised when his housemate comes barreling into the kitchen, dressed in hospital scrubs and a pair of ratty sneakers.

            “You’re early,” Hermann comments, taking a long drink of coffee. Newt shuffles through the barren cupboards, eventually pulling out a silver packet of Poptarts. He crams two of the pastries into the toaster, then leans against the counter while they fill the kitchen with the sickening aroma of burning sugar.

            “Yeah, Dr. Watanabe changed my research shift to six, so…”

            “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Hermann says, steeling himself with another sip of coffee. “What are you researching at the hospital?”

            Newt snatches the Poptarts out the toaster, fumbles the flaming pastries for a moment before dropping them on the counter.

            “Basically all this stuff with genetic mutations, chromosomal mutations, even smaller stuff like how they affect blood cell count-“

            Hermann _almost_ flinches at the word. Even the mention of the red liquid makes his stomach twist in…what? Anticipation? Desire?

            “Blood,” he interrupted. “You work with blood?”

Newt sort of laughs, a little uncomfortably. The Poptart cools, untouched, on the counter.

            “Yeah, man,” he replies. “You one of those guys who passes out every time they get a nosebleed?”

            Hermann chuckles dryly. _As if_.

            “No, I can assure you. My father was a doctor, I often accompanied him on his rounds.”

            Newt pokes at one of the breakfast pastries.

            “Was?”

            “He died many years ago,” Hermann replies stiffly, then swiftly changes the subject as the words,

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” tumble from Newt’s mouth.

            “I’ll leave you now,” Hermann says, quickly rinsing his coffee mug and grabbing his leather satchel. Newt offers him a Poptart, but he politely refuses the pastry and ducks out the door even though he doesn’t have to be at work for another hour and a half.

 

 

By eight, Newt is exhausted. He nearly nods off at his research station (tucked away in the basement laboratory of Saint Luke’s Hospital) before Kate, the cheery medical student who works at the station next to him, prods him awake.

            “Late night?” She asks knowingly. Kate is young and pretty, and always seems to have a new boyfriend on her arm. She’s one of the Hudson U students who spends her weekends partying wildly at the frat houses on Martin Avenue. Despite her active social life, she looks well-rested.

            “I guess,” Newt says. _If you count haunting online mythology forums until two a.m. a ‘late night’._ Not to mention the fact that Hermann either sleep-walks or is _very_ busy in the wee hours. He could hear his new housemate shuffling around practically all night.

            “Did you hear about Dee’s boyfriend?” Kate asks. Dee is another research student working at Saint Luke’s, and Kate’s polar opposite. Dee is smart and dedicated and considers evening study sessions a social activity. She’s not as attractive or peppy as Kate, but Newt’s been harboring a slight crush on her for the past few months.

            “No,” Newt says. “Should I have?”

            Kate slides another plate under her microscope, peers through the lens.

            “He got some weird bite on the neck at a frat party. Said some guy went crazy and started, like, mauling him.”

            Newt freezes, his cell culture nearly slipping from his hands.

            “Is he okay?”

            His voice must have sounded odd, because Kate glances over at him, eyebrow raised.

            “Yeah, he’s fine. Dee took him to the ER. They said it was nothing, but he was afraid he’d get, like, rabies or something.”

            Newt nods, but he doesn’t really hear Kate talking anymore as she rattles on about some other guy who got stabbed at a frat party this weekend. He’s thinking about who in their right mind would take a chunk out of somebody’s neck. It’s the possibility of someone _not_ in their right mind that worries him.

            _There can’t be more_ , he thinks, sliding a plate containing a chromosomal mutation beneath the microscope. _It’s impossible. Not in a town as small as this. Besides, I came here to get away from that. I’m the only freak in Oak Hills, for sure._

            But suddenly the basement seems smaller and colder, and he’s not entirely sure anymore.

 

 

            First period, Hermann lectures about the Fibonacci sequence to a hall full of slumbering students. One heavy-set boy in the second row actually starts snoring, and many of the others are clinging to thermoses of coffee as if they’re lifelines. Only one girl, a bright-eyed brunette with dark skin and a long ponytail, seems awake, taking diligent notes. Occasionally she meets Hermann’s eyes, and her own expression is wry. After class, as he shuffles his notes into a pile, she approaches the podium.

            “I found your lecture fascinating,” she tells him. “Are you the new math TA?”

            Hermann nods, allowing himself to be momentarily distracted by her beauty. She’s exotic-looking, with smooth dark skin and almond-shaped eyes, and her full lips curve into a coy half-smile when she sees him looking at her. He clears his throat quickly.

            “I’m glad you enjoyed the class,” he says honestly. “Many of your peers seemed to prefer hibernation instead.”

            She laughs, and it sounds like summertime.

            “They’re an interesting bunch,” she admits. “Smart kids, but not the most lively first thing in the morning.”

            Hermann chuckles, watches her clasp her hands behind her back and rock back and forth.

            “What are you majoring in?” He asks.

            “Physics,” she says. “With a concentration on quantum physics and the paranormal.”

            Hermann is a little taken aback, mostly that such a clearly intellectual girl would squander her time studying ghosts and goblins. He almost laughs, then, at the irony of it: he would be a prime case study.

            “Fascinating,” he tells her. They talk for a few minutes about the Fibonacci sequence, Vanessa gushing about the patterns replicated in snail shells and flowers, Hermann tells her that he did a thesis in university about the Fibonacci sequence and its relation to the natural world. She grins and says that they should get together and talk about it sometime. Hermann nods and finds himself smiling as he watches her walk, springy-stepped, to her next class. She’s almost to the door when he calls out,

            “Wait! I didn’t catch your name!”

            “Vanessa,” she tosses over her shoulder on her way out the door. “Vanessa Chun.”

            And then she’s gone, like a sunbeam disappearing behind the cloud layer, and Hermann is alone in the empty lecture hall. 


End file.
